


The War is Over

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Negan/OC fics [20]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Crushes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Jailbird Negan, Minor Rick Grimes/Michonne, Post-All Out War Arc (Walking Dead), References to the Beatles, prison Negan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 16:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17267558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: You are Negan’s keeper, but he hasn’t made it easy. But music tames the savage beast.





	The War is Over

**Author's Note:**

> My intention was to try and write something wholesome and promoting recovery from bad mental health. I probs missed the mark. Here's to hoping in 2019.

The war had been over for nearly three months, and it was the dead of winter. Time that should have been spent reaping the harvest and gathering supplies had instead been spent in all out war. Slaughtering people, making bullets, tearing down walls, bombing settlements. Everyone was feeling the price of the war keenly. And you were no exception.

You had been part of Oceanside. Even before the Saviors came along, you knew heartbreak in this new world. The Saviors just reemphasized that when they killed your dad. He really didn't have to die. Your dad had arthritis and Alzheimer's. Simon claimed that your father's execution should be a relief. A burden lifted off your shoulders.

Needless to say, it wasn't. Your dad was your sole living connection to your past. He didn't remember your name most days, and he had forgotten how to walk and needed a wheelchair, but seeing your dad everyday and taking care of him had been the reassurance you needed that people were still people. The fact that you were aided by the others in your community was proof that the world was still clinging to the its last vestiges of humanity. Without your dad, you were afraid that wasn't true anymore.

In the war, you refused to fight. Even though you had no one to live for besides yourself, you wouldn't become what the world made people. After the war, you were one of the lucky ones to have Oceanside spared from most of the carnage, but you wouldn't leave the other communities floundering. Alexandria may have been the ones to take your weapons, but you weren't going to hold that against them. It was like what Rick had said when he declared that Negan was spared – it's about building a better world and working together.

Which was how – someway, somehow – you were put in charge of caring for Negan. It probably had something to do with your limited experience since when you volunteered, you explained that you had been taking care of your dad when the world went to shit. Rick Grimes himself saw something in you, though. With the most delicate tears glistening in his diamond blue eyes like a saint, he mumbled something about his son, and then asked if you would take care of Negan. He was recovering from his wounds at his throat, his hand, and a cracked rib, so he couldn't speak, couldn't use his dominant hand, and couldn't move much.

So, you worked with him. It was a monumental effort at first. Essentially, he had to be tamed. Negan fought you every step of the way, a far cry from your docile father. Negan refused to take baths, refused to eat, refused to take his medicine, refused to let you change his bandages, refused to do anything cooperative – unless you nagged, begged, and wheedled him for twenty minutes longer than was necessary. Usually, you ended up bribing him. Something sweet with dinner to encourage him to eat. Some socks in exchange for a bath. A book to read after you finished doctoring up his wounds.

Still, at the end of the day, you convinced yourself that all of this was for a purpose. You were the bigger person. This was the right thing to do.

The highlight of your days, though, were the rare occasions where Rick asked you to watch Judith for him and Michonne while they were busy or travelling. It was always so amusing to you that a toddler, who was probably barely three, was so well behaved than your little prisoner. The one thing that Judith fought you on was going to sleep.

Naps – and more importantly, going to bed at night so that you could finally go tend to Negan – were Judith's worst enemy. You suspected it was because it was usually when she was asleep that the people in her life would leave her, like Rick and Michonne leaving before dawn to head out to another community. It wasn't like she had unsettling dreams, though you weren't sure that would last for much longer. Some days, she asked you about Carl, a boy you had only ever heard of. You felt terrible for having no answers for her.

* * *

One day, you were at your wits' end trying to get Judith to go to bed when Rick and Michonne came home. Well, there was no use trying to get Judith to sleep at that point. "Judith!" Michonne cooed in surprise, "What are you still doing awake?"

With an awkward smile, you watched from a distance as Judith was scooped into her mother's arms for a bear hug and then passed over to Rick's arm for the same treatment. "That's, uh, my fault, Michonne. She ended up having her nap a little late today, so she's probably not tired." After a pause where you watched Rick and Michonne take turns pressing kisses to Judith's cheeks and stroking her blonde hair with reverence, you added quietly, "She also doesn't sleep well on the nights that you're gone."

Over the top of Judith's head, Rick and Michonne exchanged somber looks. "We wish we didn't have to go, but there's still a lot of work to be done at the Sanctuary now that Alexandria is put back together," Michonne explained.

"I understand that, and I think what you're doing is great," you said sincerely, "I believed in you. I still believe."

"Even after all your time with Negan?" Michonne asked, and it was a playful question as much as it was serious.

After a moment, you found that when you answered it was the truth, "Yes. He hasn't made anything easy for me, but none of this is easy for him either. He's being fed, yes, but it's not comfortable living considering what he had. Even where we were before, none of us would appreciate being put in a cage. And…and he's in pain. So much pain that we can't even see. And he doesn't feel safe." At Rick's look of confusion, you added, "He thinks at any moment we'll just change our minds and kill him. Nothing I can say will convince him otherwise."

With a frown, Rick turned away, cradling Judith close to his chest. "Stick around for a bit, and we'll talk more about this." To Judith he crooned, "But as for you, Jude. It's time for bed." Without a fuss, she nestled her head underneath her father's white bearded chin, and he carried her upstairs, closely followed by Michonne.

They came back down within ten minutes, much faster than you anticipated. Luckily, though, the tea that you had brewed for them was already ready, and the three of you gathered at the kitchen table to talk in low voices, trying to not disturb Judith.

"I understand Negan isn't happy," Rick started with a sigh, "but I'm not sure he deserves to be happy. He's alive, which is more than what most people think he deserves…or what most people have anymore." He cleared his throat, and pushed on. "It's gonna take time for him to cope. I know you're not qualified to be his therapist, and you don't have to help him through this. I've been talkin' to him."

"Yeah, I know," you snorted and rolled your eyes, blowing the steam off your cup of tea. "He's always in a shitty mood afterwards. Well, shittier than normal." Michonne smirked and took a sip of her tea, both you and her sharing a look at Rick's disgruntled expression at that.

"Well, we appreciate all of your help." Covering Michonne's hand with his, Rick stared at you intensely from across the table, and you felt like his eyes were laser beams and freeze rays all at once. "We trust you."

You hadn't expected that, and it nearly bowled you over like a ton of bricks. Fighting back your tears, you looked at two community leaders you respected and nodded. "Thanks. I'm just…trying my best." You gave them a smile that they mirrored, and then you couldn't resist asking, "Um. Can I…do you guys have a tip to help me get Judith to go to bed?"

They blinked at you, and with a wry twist of his lips, Rick told you, "Have you tried singin' a lullaby?" At your blank expression, he chuckled. "When she was first born, there was someone in our group who was always singin'. It never fails for Judith either."

Feeling a little bit like a fool, you asked, "Um. What do you sing?"

"Anything works really," Michonne said, and looked to Rick for agreement.

He nodded, and then thoughtfully added, "Well, she has her favorites. When we were all at Hilltop, Jerry would love to watch her and carry her around. He must've sang 'Over the Rainbow' to her a thousand times. Gracie, too." You smiled at the mental image that conjured of such a big, burly man like Jerry being an absolute teddy bear over a baby. The moment went bittersweet when Rick added in a softer, more vulnerable tone, "Carl used to sing 'You are my Sunshine.' It was somethin' his mother used to sing."

It went quiet, the only sounds coming from the outside where crickets were slowly chirping. The seasons were changing, from the burnished gold of autumn to the crisp white of winter. Rather than dew dotting the grass in the morning, it was a thin layer of sparkling frost. Now more than ever, there was pressure to fix the communities up as food became scarcer. All of you knew this, but it went unspoken.

After breaking the moment with a jaw-cracking yawn, you stood and collected yours and Rick's empty mug to take to the sink. "Thanks, Rick. I'll think of something to sing to her."

* * *

The next time Rick and Michonne left, you were prepared. You were going to pull out all the stops for Judith's naptime. Since she was too big to be wrangled into a rocking chair, you dragged her outside to let her run herself ragged and tired. After the fifth time you caught her rubbing at her eyes, you led her over to the swing set. During one of Rick's scavenging trips to an abandoned Lowe's for building material, he found a metal swing set still in the box. He immediately brought it home for Judith and built it in front of his house. Soon, it would have to be moved since there were plans for this area becoming a garden in the spring, but for now, you thought it was good placement.

Gently pushing Judith, you started singing to her, " _Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."_

Surprisingly, as inquisitive and chatty as Judith normally was, this time she was quiet. You continued to push her by the shoulders, careful to keep the pace easy, and for once, Judith was not begging to go higher or faster. It was starting to get cool, and you imagined that the breeze on Judith's face was a sharper nip in the air. If this didn't work, you'd have to take her inside soon and try something else. But for now, you continued to sing, " _Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better._ "

Squinting into the late afternoon light of the early setting sun, you looked around self-consciously. Personally, you didn't think you were a great singer. But for once the hustle and bustle of Alexandria hadn't touched your little spot in the world. It was just you and her, and you couldn't feel the set of hazel eyes watching you from the basement window of the cell. " _And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders, for well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder_."

Skipping over the na-na-na's, you tried to peak around and catch a glance of Judith's face. Her eyes were closed, and you allowed yourself a pleased little smile that Rick's advice had rung true. " _Hey Jude, don't let me down. You have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."_

Judith's fingers around the chain link had started to go slack, so you slowed her down gently to avoid any tummy swoops and gathered her up into your arms. Instantly, she was out like a light before you even got inside, and you never even had to finish the song.

* * *

From inside his cell, Negan sighed as you and Judith disappeared from sight. He had heard you sing, and it had tempted him enough to look out the window. For him, it was like looking into a crystal ball of what his future could have been if the world was fair. If Lucille hadn't gotten cancer. If Negan hadn't been a terrible husband. If the dead hadn't risen. Sighing again, Negan settled down on his bed.

These few months had been a rough adjustment period for him where he had basically had been thrown in the deep end and left to drown. But he swam, damn it. Dying was not on his agenda, or the cards apparently. No matter what he said, he didn't get out of it for any other reason than their mercy. And though he would never admit it, he was grateful.

And you, you were a sunspot in the darkness. Sure, he gave you shit, but he was just playing hard to get. It was also a little humiliating to have a pretty girl help him wipe his ass, among other things, but you did it all without ever teasing him or being cruel. You were always unfailing kind, and he knew that he didn't deserve one ounce of it.

Hanging his head, Negan clutched at his hair with his unbandaged hand while the other one pressed to his scalp uselessly. And then the tears came.

* * *

After that, naptime and bedtime weren't a problem anymore. Of course, Judith loved that song because it was her song. She may not understand what the lyrics meant, but she heard her name and she heard to not be sad. Judith put on a happy face, and she stopped asking when Carl would come back and instead incorporated him into the messy finger-painted family portraits anyway. Another thing she stopped doing was asking when her parents would come back. In her head and her heart, she just accepted that they would always come back.

Eventually, though, "Hey Jude" was starting to get boring for her, and as you led her to the swing set for your nearly daily pre-naptime ritual, she asked, "Sing 'nother song."

"Another song, Jude? Hmm, lemme see." To be honest, you had been hoping she'd ask for something different. Ever since you started singing it, you had the Beatles on your mind, so you fell back another one of their softer songs. " _Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise._ "

It was another cold day. All the leaves were withered and brown, and the grass was just as dead. The sky overhead, however, was a clear blue, not a cloud in sight, so it was still a fair, pretty day. The sun was keeping you both warm. " _Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free_."

Not hearing any complaints from Judith in your choice of song, you snuck a look and saw she was on the verge of falling asleep. Slipping her out of the swing set seat, you softly sang to her as you carried her inside, " _Blackbird fly, blackbird fly, into the light of the dark black night."_

* * *

More time passed, and you went through a whole Beatles album trying to entertain Judith. Her favorites – besides her song – were "Here Comes the Sun," "Yellow Submarine," and "All You Need is Love." You continued to take her out to the swing set before naptime for as long as you could, but eventually it got too cold to risk it. There was a small cold outbreak, and since Judith was so young, you couldn't take any chances. Instead you had to settle to singing to her in bed, and usually, you had to sing a song at least three times before she would drop off to sleep.

Today, you were feeling the holiday spirit, and even though you had to sing it for her at least five times until she could sing along, you were still singing as you left Rick's house with a steaming bowl of soup for Negan's cell. " _So, this is Christmas, and what have you done? Another year over, and a new one just begun. And so, this is Christmas. I hope you have fun, the near and the dear one, the old and the young."_

Lucky for you, Judith didn't ask what Christmas was. You, however, you missed Christmas. It brought cheer and good food and high spirits, all of which was lacking today. Trudging through the knee-high snow, you soldiered on and sang with your breath hanging in the air in front of your face in a thick fog. " _A very Merry Christmas, and a happy new year. Let's hope it's a good one without any fear._ "

Once you unlocked the door to his cell, you stopped singing and switched over to humming instead. "Hey, Negan. Are you warm enough? I brought some soup, but I could bring you another blanket or thicker socks if you like."

Rather than immediately answering you, Negan bluntly said, "Y'know, I missed your singin', darlin'."

Freezing in place, you pressed your lips together in embarrassment. "You heard me?" you squeaked, absolutely mortified.

"Of course, darlin'. You're right outside my little window the world." Negan accepted his soup bowl, but when he saw you avoiding his eye, he paused. "Oh, come on. You're not shy, are you? You always sang fucking shamelessly out there."

"That was different. I was just having fun and trying to get Judith sleepy." Gnawing at your bottom lip, you apologized, "I'm sorry that you had to hear me. I know I'm not that good."

"You're not terrible, darlin'," he assured you. His hazel eyes felt so heavy on you, like a caress across your skin. When he dropped his eyes down to his bowl and gently blew away the steam, you found you could breathe again. "One of the things about the old world I still miss is the music." Almost shyly, he asked, "I wouldn't mind if you finished your song for me."

Inside your chest, your heart stuttered to a stop before kick starting rapid-fire again. "I…I dunno if I can."

Negan spooned some of the broth into his mouth, nodding his understanding. "Would it help you, darlin', if I didn't look at you?"

"Yeah, it would." You settled down in the metal folding chair that Rick had set up for you so you could watch and make sure Negan ate all his food. Thankfully, he was well enough now that he didn't need to take medicine anymore, and his bandages could be changed less often. You imagined this was how it felt to have a baby grow from needy, fussy infant to an independent toddler like Judith.

The comparison made you smile, and you found yourself wanting to share some of this happiness and Christmas cheer with Negan. Lately, he has been so unhappy. If you singing to him could bring him some joy if only for a little while, then you would do it for both your sakes. "I…I'll sing a little more. Just a little, though, if you really want."

Negan's eyes shot to yours in surprise, his lips wrapped around the spoon. Quickly, though, he looked away again, remembering what she said. "Yes, yes, I do want. Thank you," he mumbled.

Not expecting him to actually say yes, you had a moment where you scrambled to try to remember the words. He wasn't even looking at you, and yet the butterflies in your stomach were swirling up a storm. Of course, you had none since the very first day that this man was handsome, but since he had been so antagonistic and he was basically a patient you thought it would be inappropriate to look at him that way. Little did you know that he had looked at you that way the whole time.

Starting off soft and working your way up, you closed your eyes so you could concentrate on not screwing up and just let your heart out. " _A very Merry Christmas, and a happy new year. Let's hope it's a good one without any fear. War is over, if you want it. War is over now."_

You took a deep breath, and it wasn't until you felt the words stop ringing in your ears that you opened your eyes again. Negan had kept his word, staring into his now empty bowl that he clutched tightly in his hands. "I know you're hurting, Negan," you began quietly, "but we're all hurting, too. The only thing we can do is try to move on the best we can. And I know that's hard to do in here, but this can be an easy life. I promise you, you'll always be guaranteed food and medicine, and at least my company." You gave him a little time to consider that and then tacked on, "Rick's company, too, I guess."

Slowly, Negan looked up, but he had nothing to say.

Earnestly, you promised him, "Negan, we're not going to kill you. We're the ones who want to keep you alive. It's up to you, though, to find something to live for." Standing up, you reached for his bowl and he passed it to you. "That's something we've all had to learn in this world."

You turned to leave, and then so quietly you thought he hadn't meant to say it, you heard Negan whisper, "Yeah, merry Christmas, darlin'."

"Merry Christmas to you, too, Negan."


End file.
